Lockdown Drill

            We have a lockdown drill every year at the synagogue school, mostly so the teachers can figure out where the safest and least visible spot is in their classrooms, because the kids are already experts. My first year as a teacher, I had to rely on my students to tell me what to do when the lockdown drill was called, and they calmly led me to my desk, where we all huddled under and behind it in the dark until we got the all-clear. My noisy, wild first group of kids turned silent and serious while they waited for the all-clear, and then quickly reverted to their usual chaos right after. 

            The next year, during Covid, I ended up in a random classroom with older kids I barely knew, and we all just hit the floor, each hiding under our own desks, whispers and giggles erupting all over the place. The police officers gave us a thumbs down on our attempt that time, mostly because we were completely visible through the glass wall into the garden. Somehow, we were supposed to have known to squeeze into the closet in the corner, or the cabinet under the sink. I never had to teach in that classroom again.

            Eventually, I got my own classroom, and a clear plan for where and when to shelter in place. By then the Squirrel Hill synagogue shooting had happened, and we finally understood that these drills were not just pro forma – synagogues were targets. There’s a blind corner in my classroom where you can’t be seen from the door or windows, so if I move some desks out of the way we can all huddle in that corner and wait it out.

            I remember having a discussion with my students, maybe five years ago, about an isolated antisemitic incident at a local public school; I don’t remember if it was a Swastika painted on the wall of the school, or something similar, but most of the adults in the neighborhood were willing to treat it as a learning opportunity for the offender. My students saw it differently. They were angry, and frightened, and had a lot of stories to tell me about similar incidents that had flown under the radar, and they needed to talk through the implications of seeing obvious signs of antisemitism in their usually friendly and welcoming environment. I mentioned it to the other teachers and to the clergy at the time, but they were mostly of the same mind as the parents, doubtful that antisemitism was really a problem in a world where racism against black people was exploding in the streets. But I guess Generation Alpha saw something coming, and now it’s here.

            Over the years since the Squirrel Hill shooting, the (newly formed) security committee at the synagogue sought out grants to put in security doors, darkened windows, bollards to prevent car rammings, and, of course, security guards. And we’ve been lucky, because our local police department is knowledgeable and proactive, and there’s often a police car or two in our parking lot during the day. But the danger keeps growing. When we had our first professional development of the year, back in September, we had to practice yet another kind of drill; instead of sheltering in place, we had to practice escaping from the building and gathering at a safe distance, like a fire drill on steroids. It turned out that the only place nearby that would agree to host us in case of such an emergency was a church far down the road. Locations much closer to our building had been asked, consulted lawyers, and said no. I’d like to believe their reasons were practical – they didn’t have enough space for all of us, they didn’t have enough parking for all of the parents to come and get their kids afterwards, they didn’t have adequate security to ensure our safety – but all of those things were also true of the church that did agree to host us. The walk we took that day, talking the whole time about how we would guide our students along the side of the road and keep their attention off the danger, was exhausting and sobering. And then came the attack on the synagogue in Michigan, where they had put in all the same security measures as we did, and then the Hatzalah ambulances outside of a synagogue in London, and attacks on synagogues in Belgium and Toronto and on and on. Doing a lockdown drill is already overwhelming, but watching the news lately made me even more nervous than usual about our upcoming drill.

            As expected, my current class struggled with the silence aspect of the lockdown drill. They took me seriously when I checked the hallway and locked the door and turned off the lights, and they followed willingly when I led them to the blind corner, each finding a comfortable spot on the floor, but they started to crack themselves up almost immediately, and every attempt I made to distract them made them laugh louder (I am, clearly, hysterical). Luckily, we were far enough away from the door and still quiet enough to not get in trouble with the police officers who were walking through the building, checking that our classroom doors were locked and that no one could tell we were hiding inside. My job, as it was explained to me, was to keep the kids quiet so that an attacker would skip our classroom and move on to the next classroom, or the next, but I know all of the teachers and students in those classrooms too. It’s hard to feel any sense of relief or accomplishment in getting a thumbs up on a job well done when I know that our safety could mean that someone we care about becomes the next target. But the kids came through the drill unscathed. They especially liked that it prevented me from actually teaching them anything. They are experts at deflecting my lesson plans as it is, so getting help from the police made them even happier, and they went on with the rest of their day without showing any outward signs of trauma.

            We don’t spend a lot of time talking about these threats with our students, or about the current war with Iran, partly because we have too much to teach and too little time as it is, and partly because our directive is to focus on Jewish joy as much as possible and let the parents decided how much of the danger to share with their kids at home. But the threats still exist, whether we talk about them or not, and lately I’m feeling it.

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

            Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?